


Shock Value

by Purrgatorio (Nekositting)



Category: Marvel, Marvel 616
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Electrocution, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Heavy Angst, Hydra Steve Rogers, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26096083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekositting/pseuds/Purrgatorio
Summary: “What are you doing?“ Tony said, stomach twisting with unease at the same time Tony tried to rear back and avoid Steve’s approach, but there was no escaping. Tony was strapped down tight. There was nowhere for him to go, to run, not when Steve was coming, when Tony’s neck was craning to keep Steve’s face within view.A nervous sweat began to bead in the back of Tony’s neck, his hands to shake.Something was wrong, something was—“Doing something different.”
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 24
Kudos: 120





	Shock Value

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to play in a different sandbox, and it looks like I am rather liking the sand.
> 
> Heed the tags. As the old saying goes, you read at your own risk.
> 
> This is dark stuff.

“It doesn’t have to be this way.”

Tony scoffed, unwilling to dignify that with a response. Of course things had to be this way. What alternative was there? World domination? Slavery? Nothing Tony could say would make the dumbass see reason. You had more chances of smashing through a boulder with your own skull than getting Steve to back down when his mind was made up.

Sucked for Steve that Tony was the exact same way.

“Come on, Tony.”

Tony spat in Steve’s direction, uncaring of the fact that he’d missed by a landslide. Steve always stood by the door, as if anticipating at any moment that Tony was going to free himself from his restraints and make a break for it.

Granted, Steve wasn’t wrong. Tony already had, more than once, tried to escape. For all of Steve’s inflexibility, this was the only instance Steve adapted.

“Talk to me.” A familiar violent feeling twisted in Tony’s stomach, pushing and grinding away at his atoms until they were nothing but empty space. Tony hated this the most.

The pleading. 

It made him sound so much like Steve, like how he remembered him, like how he still dreamed of him, and yet—

_This isn’t the Steve I know._

He would never be.

The man standing in front of him was an imposter, a caricature. All bones and no meat. Nothing for even buzzards to pick at, let alone make dinner out of.

This Steve wasn’t wearing red, white, and blue.

This Steve didn’t carry a shield.

He was all in black. The fucking poster boy for Hydra now. 

All hard edges and sharpened points, Steve was a weapon ready to draw blood. It was like everything that had made Steve himself had been stripped away, leaving nothing but a hollow husk of what he’d used to be. 

The baby blues, the blond hair: that was all that was left.

Even the way he looked at Tony, the way he smiled and talked—

Tony couldn’t stand it, couldn’t bear to look at him. This wasn’t the man he’d fallen in love with, that he had cherished and pined after like a lovesick school girl. 

“Look at me.”

Still, Tony forced himself to look, to witness for himself just how far Steve had fallen off the deep end. What point was there to deny it? What good would it do to anyone to blind himself to the truth? He knew better than anyone that if he turned a blind eye to the monster in front of him, he’d find himself falling back in the pit that was Steve fucking Rogers. 

And what a fucking sight it was.

Downturned lips, wounded eyes: Tony saw red.

“Fuck you,” Tony snarled, straining against the cuffs pinning his wrists to his back and his ankles to the legs of the chair he’d been tied to. It was a good thing that he had been, Tony didn’t know what he’d done then. 

The audacity, the sheer fucking delusion of all of this. 

Fighting against the cuffs, Tony pushed back the urge to look away from the man playing at empathy, at _love._ This Steve didn’t love anything but himself, couldn’t see what was right in front of him when he was so blinded by his own twisted views. There was no room for Tony in his heart, let alone in his _mind,_ and good fucking riddance.

Now if only Tony could convince himself of that fact.

“Just get out.” 

It was pointless, of course. Steve wasn’t going anywhere no matter what Tony said. Neither of them were given the situation at hand, but Tony still had to make it known, still had to show him just how much of a piece of shit Steve was.

It was the principle of the matter. 

To do nothing would only serve as a reminder of what Tony had lost, of how Steve fucking Rogers had not only ripped his heart out of his chest, but fed it to one of his fucking dogs for good measure.

To do nothing meant to think, and thinking meant dwelling on unnecessary shit, and that was the last thing anyone needed.

 _Even Steve._

And why Tony was even thinking about what Steve needed, at this stage, Tony didn’t fucking know. But there he was, thinking about irrelevant things as he always did when it came to this son-of-a-bitch. 

“ _Please_ Tony, just listen to me.” Steve’s eyes were blazing, passion and anguish screwing the man’s face into something Tony couldn’t stand to look at, couldn’t stand to watch. Tony knew that it was all lies, all hollow words with no substance to them.

Steve was begging, pleading, for Tony to listen, but this was nothing more than a farce.

A lie.

Steve didn’t care, probably never did if he was a mole for Hydra. All of this, whatever it was they had had, was just a stupid game of pretend. And now, Steve was testing just how far he could push until Tony broke, trying to take advantage of his good will and blind hope.

But Tony wasn’t going to break. No, he wouldn’t give Hydra the satisfaction. 

This wasn’t the Steve he’d fallen in love with, and Tony would be damned before he crumpled beneath the weight of his own emotions. That didn’t mean, however, that Tony didn’t want to tear his hair straight out of his fucking head.

“It doesn’t have to be more complicated than it needs to be, you know that. I want what is best for you, for _us_.”

Did Steve really expect Tony to just roll over and give in to whatever demands Steve had? To just accept things as they were and then have the entire weight of Hydra’s forces come down on the head of his teammates after he spilled the beans? All because Steve said _please?_

_Because I love Steve?_

All Tony could do was laugh, too incredulous to respond, to tell Steve to go fuck himself. 

Steve stepped closer, and Tony bore his teeth at him in a snarl. The warning couldn’t be clearer.

_Stay the fuck away._

“Do you hear yourself right now? Do you know what the definition of insanity is, Steve? Would you like me to enlighten you? Because from where I’m sitting, you tick all the boxes. Doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results.”

Steve’s expression hardened, even as Tony continued to push his luck with the cuffs on his wrists. Tony was doing more damage to himself than was necessary, but he couldn’t help the response, not when Steve was coming closer.

If Steve so much as touched him, Tony didn’t know what he would do, what he would say—

“There’s nothing for us to talk about. Go back to your little posse and go bother someone else.”

Still, Steve kept coming, his footfalls like gunshots in a church, like a bomb going off in a library. Trying not to react to each step was difficult, but Tony held his ground. The bite of the metal cuffs on his wrist were both a punishment and relief.

“You’re right.” 

Tony blinked, his anger and apprehension giving way to confusion. He was right? There was no doubt in Tony’s mind that he was, of course, but for Steve to concede this point now of all times—

 _“_ I think I’ve been going about this the wrong way.”

The hairs on the nape of Tony’s neck stood on end at the words, at the strange gleam in the depths of Steve’s eyes, at the tick in the man’s jaw. 

It was a look Tony knew all too well, a look that stole every breath from Tony’s lungs.

_Determination._

“What are you doing?“ Tony said, stomach twisting with unease at the same time Tony tried to rear back and avoid Steve’s approach, but there was no escaping. Tony was strapped down tight. There was nowhere for him to go, to run, not when Steve was coming, when Tony’s neck was craning to keep Steve’s face within view. 

A nervous sweat began to bead in the back of Tony’s neck, his hands to shake. 

Something was wrong, something was—

“Doing something different.”

Then, Steve was insinuating himself between Tony’s parted legs, his hands crawling up to the breadth of Tony’s tensed shoulders to tease where the collar of Tony’s shirt met skin. Tony let out a sharp breath at the contact, unable to help the response even when the man doing it was no longer the man he’d dreamed of touching him, pictured trailing light hands over his bare, quivering skin. 

“Stop it.” Tony could only whisper when Steve’s hands began to slide lower, fingertips ghosting over where Tony’s nipples poked visibly through his shirt. “Don’t.”

Steve didn’t stop. Of course he didn’t. He wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, to fold at the face of adversity. That terrifying look of determination was still in his eyes; his jaw still stubbornly set. 

Nothing that Tony said, could even think to say, would dissuade Steve now.

“No.”

Tony shut his eyes, unable to look at him. This wasn’t—

Tony’s heart was racing in his chest, his breaths coming short and fast as he tried to rein in his panic, to stop himself from shrinking into the chair he’d been tied to. 

That only made things worse, more real.

_Calloused fingers, sandalwood aftershave, a fine-shaven chin._

Tony’s mind was racing, heart beating so hard in his chest that it wanted to shatter his ribcage. He _didn’t_ want this. 

Not like this. 

Tony had to do something, to say something, before Steve went past the point of no return, before—

“Steve, _stop_.”

Fingers crept further down to tease between the sliver of exposed skin between Tony’s t-shirt and pants. It was torturous. Absolutely fucking maddening, but still, Tony didn’t open his eyes, unsure if closing them had been the best choice in the first place. 

_Not like this. Please not like this._

“What’s wrong? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?”

Tony shook his head, teeth catching on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sound that wanted to escape. Straining against the cuffs, Tony shuffled as far into his seat as the restraints allowed when fingertips began to poke inside his pants, when those fingertips became fingers, and those fingers became a warm hand.

Tony stilled, his bound hands curling into tight fists as he repressed the urge to push into that heat, into that all too familiar sensation that he’d longed for for so long.

_Focus._

Counting his breaths in that instant was nothing short of impossible, but Tony didn’t pause, tried to focus on the familiar in and out, of the steady widening and shrinking of his lungs, because to do anything else, to think of anything but his breaths would be a mistake, would be—

“Tony.”

Another plea, softer than before, and Tony came undone. 

“Not like this,” Tony said through clenched teeth, through the heat swelling in the marrow of his bones, in the depths of his soul with each swipe of Steve’s fingers. One would think he was inexperienced with the way he was reacting, with the way he was barely hanging on to his pride, but if this had been anyone else, Tony could have been okay.

He could have shoved Steve away, he could have forced himself to turn away from the face now looming near his, eyes wide and searching. Still determined but familiar all the same, Tony was lost fighting an uphill battle from the moment Steve had walked through that door and changed the rules of the game.

“You’re hard. How can you say that when you’re this wet?” 

There was no denying what was obvious, but still, Tony opened his mouth to protest, eyes settling on Steve’s to let him know _exactly_ what he thought about this—

Anything Tony could have said was lost to the press of that hand, to the moment when Steven pressed his forehead against his and his hand reached further down, fingers clasping around his cock and jerking him once.

“ _Fuck_.”

It was the picture of intimacy, and wasn’t that fucking perfect? Tony couldn’t stop the burn at the corners of his eyes, at the way his chest pinched with agony. He didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to give Steve the satisfaction of his tears, but this was too much. 

To touch him like this, to push his forehead against his and make him _look_ , it was cruel. 

So fucking cruel, and yet—

There was nothing Tony could have done; not with Steve toying with his cock and his lips a hair’s breadth away. Tony didn’t know who he hated most then, whether Steve or himself.

Tony couldn’t help rocking into that hand, there was no stopping himself now when Steve kept squeezing and jerking him through his boxer-briefs, manipulating him like he’d always known how. Up and down, side to side, Steve’s nails dragged along his shaft, hand tugging and pushing along all the places Tony liked, before teasing at the sensitive head of his cock and following that dangerous path down the single bulging vein on the underside of his dick.

Even as he tried not to sink into the warmth radiating from his dick, tried to resist the traitorous whisper in the back of his mind telling him to relish the fact that Steve was giving him attention, Tony couldn’t get enough of it. Between the roll of Steve’s expert fingers and the man’s harsh breaths, Tony was drowning in Steve.

_In what they could have been._

The tears started and didn’t stop. Tony couldn’t pinpoint when the burning at the corners of his eyes had become something else, something more, but when Steve’s face blurred, there was no going back. 

Tony was crying even as he twisted his hips to get closer, even as he arched into Steve’s waiting hand, tempted to kiss Steve’s mouth, to smack himself for even wanting Steve to kiss him at all. His wrists were on fire, the burn and the moisture dripping from the inside of his wrists all the evidence he needed to know that he’d cut skin.

“I’m sorry.”

It was a whisper, a prayer, revenant and apologetic at the same time. For a grown man to cry this much about a piece of shit like Steve was not only embarrassing, but pathetic, but Tony did it anyway. 

As much as he hated Steve, who and what he’d become—or perhaps always had been—Tony still loved him, still ached and yearned for another chance just to return to what they’d been, to imagine just what they could have been.

_But there was no returning to how things are, Tony._

“I’m so sorry.”

At tell-tale clink of a button coming undone, at the slow _whirr_ of a zipper coming undone, Tony’s eyes were rolling to the back of his head, his stomach clenching from the continued curl of Steve’s fingers on his cock, from the brutal onslaught of that thumb on his glans. Tony could barely breathe through the snot and congestion from his crying, but he was rocking into Steve’s hand like he wasn’t choking with each desperate breath.

“S-shut up,” Tony groaned out at the same time he rolled his hips into Steve’s hand, riding out the wave of pleasure now for all its worth. He was going to hate himself later, he recognized it, but for now, he needed to finish what Steve had selfishly begun, he _needed_ —

“But I have to do this.”

Tony’s toes curled when Steve’s mouth kissed along his throat, teeth catching at Tony’s earlobe. The sting of it, the wet warmth of Steve’s mouth almost undid him, almost had Tony creaming himself like a preteen after his girlfriend had given him more than a peck on the lips. 

It was so close; Tony was _so_ close.

He could almost taste it.

He’d deal with the guilt and self-loathing later.

“It’s for your own good.”

The pain didn’t register at first. It was like an orgasm, like free falling and hitting ice cold water from two hundred feet high. For a split second, Tony thought he had come.

There was no other explanation for the involuntary convulsions, for the gooseflesh rippling up the sides of his arms. 

But then, the shocks didn’t abate.

When instead of his body sinking into the chair, instead of becoming the boneless heap of racing endorphins characteristic of a mind-blowing orgasm, the hum beneath his skin became a violent lurch deeper than flesh, than muscle and bone—

Tony screamed. 

He jerked and thrashed in his chair, writhed beneath Steve’s grip on his cock, howled beneath the soft assurances Steve whispered in his ear, but still, the shocks didn’t stop. 

It was never ending. 

Between the stench of burning flesh and hair and the agony radiating from his cock, Tony couldn’t stop the tears. He’d bitten his tongue so hard to shoulder the pain that he didn’t know how he hadn’t drowned in his own blood, choked to death trying to stay sane.

“Why can’t you understand?”

The fact Steve was still clutching his cock hardly registered, not until the fingers began to move again despite the lightning blazing through him, spreading and lapping at his skin. It was like Tony’s head was stuck underwater, his own thoughts trying to swim back up to the surface but being met with a layer of thick ice. 

But one thing was clear, it was obvious even through the haze of agony blurring Tony’s vision, Steve was doing this. 

Steve was hurting him. 

“Why can’t you see that I’m trying to do the right thing?”

“S-stop.” Tony tried to speak, but speaking full sentences was impossible. The burning stench was overwhelming, almost cloying. Tony couldn’t get more than a word in before he was sinking back into his chair, unable to get his muscles to listen to him for long enough to _beg._

_Please._

Everything stopped. 

The convulsions, the burning, the crying: it was like Tony could breathe again.

And he did. 

_In and out._

_Out and in_.

Tony forced himself to open his eyes at the same time he sucked in _one, two, and three_ breaths into his straining lungs. There was pain with each one he took, with each second that the dark edges at the corners of his eyes cleared and sharpened into the dank cell he’d been holed up in since he’d been captured weeks before.

“ _Tony_ —“

Steve was the last to come to focus, and Tony almost wished he hadn’t noticed him at all. Not when Steve was on his knees, one hand clutching tightly at Tony’s cock while the other pressed a diabolical looking weapon against where Tony’s shaft met scrotum. 

Tony opened his mouth, unsure of what he could even say, if there was anything to say at all, but the words refused to come to him. He was in shock, unable to rip his eyes away from the red and charred flesh of his dick still nestled in Steve’s hand. 

“What did you _do?_ ” Tony choked out the words at the same time tears threatened to fall. Steve had _hurt_ him.

In the weeks that Steve had kidnapped him, not once had Steve harmed him. Not once. 

_Why?_

_Why?_

Tony wanted to tear his head out of his skull, to yank his own eyes from his sockets. Anything was better than this. Anything.

“What did you fucking do?” 

Steve squeezed Tony’s prick, and it was like Tony had had his dick caught in a blender, like millions of tiny teeth had chewed and bitten his flesh raw until nothing but ruined skin remained. If Tony hadn’t already cried his eyes out, he would have cried again, sobbed and wept.

But there were no more tears left.

“What I had to.”

Tony shook his head left and right, a hysterical laugh bubbling in his throat. What he had to? Tony could hardly believe what Steve was saying. 

“Tony, I didn’t want to hurt you. You know that.”

Steve’s face was apologetic, pained. The blues of his eyes were cloudy, uncertain. Tony wanted to retch, to punch him so hard in the face that Steve could never look at him like that again. 

_Fuck._

“I _love_ you. So much.” 

Steve’s face broke then, his eyes shedding tears like he’d never had before. Tony was speechless, at a loss of what to say. 

Steve’s words were still ringing in his head.

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

It had to be a lie. The tenderness, the tears, the hand now easing its way out of Tony’s shriveled cock to cup Tony’s cheek. It had to be a lie. 

_It had to be._

“Please, Tony.” Steve’s voice broke at the same time Tony’s did, at the same time Steve came forward to caress Tony’s cheek tenderly and kiss him on the brow. 

_He’s lying. He’s lying. He’s—_

“I don’t want to hurt you again.”

Tony couldn’t breathe through the lump in his throat, through the pinch in his chest that was spreading like a cancer through him. His mind was buzzing, screaming for him, but he couldn’t get himself to move, to say anything at all. 

“Just tell me where they are.” Steve’s voice was tender, all sugar and sweet assurances. 

_—he’s not lying._

Tony didn’t react when Steve kissed him on the lips, just like Tony had always dreamed, had always pictured they would until the world had been flipped on its ass. 

_Steve wasn’t lying._

For once, Tony wished that he were.


End file.
